


The Chemistry of Cookie-Making

by lysanatt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Gabriel/Dean - Freeform, M/M, Romance, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 01:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2090229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysanatt/pseuds/lysanatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel is sick, Dean is taking care of him and Sam... Sam has just promised to use his only weekend off to take care of their coffee shop. Sam isn't sure whether it's a good thing that Gabriel's older brother has offered his assistance as well. All Sam knows about the guy is that Lucifer is an asshole and Sam certainly isn't looking forward to spending time with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chemistry of Cookie-Making

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for beta to the lovely ladydrace - remaining errors are all mine. 
> 
> Pinch hit for FYSL exchange 2014 and a recipient who never cared to read it. Anyway, I enjoyed writing, I like the story, and that's the important part of the procedure.

**The Chemistry of Cookie-Making**

"Please, Sam?" Dean's voice on the phone is rough from lack of sleep and worry. "He's got a fever and the vomiting... it just goes on and on. There is no way he can go near the coffee shop in his condition — and I can't leave him. So either you get your ass over here and take care of my boyfriend, or _you_ are serving coffee and cookies at the café for the next couple of days. Your choice, bro."

Sam sighs. It's not for lack of sympathy; Gabriel has to be seriously ill because Dean's worry is evident. "Thanks, Dean, that is so very kind of you. Because my other plans, like having the weekend off after a full two weeks at the office don't sound alluring in the least, compared to working my ass off the whole weekend," Sam snaps without really meaning it. Of course he's going to help. It's not Dean's fault that Sam, youngest partner in his law firm, has an exhausting schedule. "And how am I supposed to handle the shop by myself? I guess I need to bake and make coffee and create edible salads and sandwiches and—"

"Gabriel's older brother is coming too. Not that he can cook, but he can handle the money. Isn't that what stockbrokers do?"

Sam's brows travel up a floor. "You bullied Lucifer into helping out?" Sam has never met Gabriel's brother, only heard rumors about a man who honestly doesn't sound very appealing. The guy is as much a stockbroker as Sam is Kili the Dwarf. It doesn't make it better that Lucifer's corporation, the financial company that Lucifer _owns_ , is in fierce competition with some of Sam's law firm's clients. Lucifer is infamous in financial circles. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. Gabriel says Lucifer isn't _that_ bad. He's lying, of course."

"I hate you. And Gabriel." It's not personal. Sam is willing to hate anyone calling in the middle of the night to tell him he has to sacrifice his weekend in favor of baking cookies.

"Stop bitching, Sammy. The doctor says it's probably over by Monday. It's Norovirus, which is why it is a very bad idea that any of us go near Coffee Heaven before we know that he's not contagious."

"And if you catch it? You're the guy wiping Gabe's brow and cleaning up."

"Then I have the weekend to find someone to take over so that we have next week covered. Sam, please? I promise. I'll have people coming in on Monday." There are some unappetizing sounds in the background that more than anything proves that Gabriel shouldn't be out of bed. "I better go," Dean says. "You have the spare key?"

"Yeah. Take care of him, I'll manage. I'll call if there's anything. When does Lucifer show up?" 

"He promised he'd be there around eight. The weekend morning rush starts around nine, so—" 

They are interrupted by a few pathetic moans in the background. Sam has no doubt that Gabriel is exactly as sick as Dean says. That, or the Oscar goes to...

Dean sighs. "Gabriel... I should..."

Sam understands. "Go. I'm okay, Dean." 

He puts the phone down without saying goodbye. 

Leaning over to turn on the light, Sam shuffles around to sit up. The alarm on the bedside table tells him that it's 5:45. The sun is barely up, and Sam doesn't want to leave the bed, especially not to spend a full weekend with some asshole big brother CEO about whom he knows little, apart from that he's a CEO and an ass. And Sam knows how Gabriel looks when he speaks of his older brother. They might love each other, Sam has no doubt, but it's not an easy love. That Gabriel rarely talks about Lucifer speaks volumes. Sam is, however, unsure about _what_.

Feeling very tired, Sam gets up anyway. Sam likes Gabriel and he's not going to let him and Dean down when they need him. If Sam can be a killer in court; surely he can stand a few hours with Gabriel's brother. Sam's going to cook anyway. He won't have time for socializing and he doubts that Lucifer is the least interested.

*

The street is quiet and dark when Sam pulls up outside the small coffee shop that is Gabriel's latest project. People are asleep above it, only a few small squares of light announce that the city is waking up, leaving Sam little time to prepare for the breakfast rush. He closes the door behind him, turns on the light and jacks in the iPod. He takes a few minutes, relaxing as he listens to the calm beauty of Bach's Violin Concerto in A minor. Not his usual kind of music, but he needs the dulcet tones to soothe his slight annoyance with the situation.

He goes to work, making sure the huge coffee-maker is gurgling and coughing its way through the first batch. Sam is glad that Dean insisted on a decent coffee maker instead of those ridiculously fancy pseudo-barista things. The coffee shop has no trendy cappuccinos or experimental caramel cream banana toffee lattes with a drizzle of freeze-dried elephant skin and whipped pelican pee or whatever the fashion is this week. There is coffee with cream or without (twenty different estate coffees, though; Gabriel does not approve of poor quality) and there are homemade buns and Gabriel's famed cookies. The clientèle has learned to appreciate it the hard way. Neither Dean, nor Gabriel are afraid to let their customers know what they think of the _latte segment_. 

Sam doesn't come to the coffee shop that often; he's too busy for that. But he's been here enough times to know how things work. He has helped out on more than one occasion, and although he is nowhere near as efficient as Dean or Gabriel, Sam has hot buns and even hotter coffee ready when the first patrons show up, sleepy and Saturday-lazy. Nothing is Gabriel-quality, the guy is a wizard in a kitchen, but it's edible. Sam munches on a bun. Yep, they are definitely edible. Luckily the storage is fully stocked; making decent sandwiches won't be a problem, especially not with someone else taking care of the patrons.

In between taking care of the drizzle of breakfast-hungry people, Sam looks through Gabriel's recipes and begins preparing a tuna salad with tomatoes and sliced celery in an oregano-spiced mayo-dressing. He is so preoccupied with the task that he doesn't realize that he has yet another customer before someone coughs lightly to get his attention. Sam looks over his shoulder at the newcomer. He gets an impression of icy blue eyes and blond hair, someone who is attractive and dangerous the way an Arctic wolf is beautiful and dangerous. Sam puts down the chef's knife and wipes his hands in a dish towel that he has designated for that particular use.

"Yeah? May I help you?" Sam sends the customer a nice smile, just a brief flash of professionally bared teeth and as much honesty as he can muster at seven thirty in the morning. "Coffee?" Sam reaches for the freshly made pot at the coffee maker even before the man has replied. The shop's standard coffee is damned good coffee. 

"Not that. French press Gikanda AA, if you don't mind." The guy points at one of the the tins on the specialty coffee selection shelf. "Twice as strong as you'd usually make it."

This time Sam's smile is honest. His coffee could remove paint. Sam throws the dish towel on the worktop."You don't know how I usually make it, but if you like tar that much, I won't stop you."

"That is damned unhygienic I'll have you know," the guy in front of him says, nodding in the direction of the clean dish towel. "It's a wonder the entire block hasn't come down with Norovirus if that's how Gabriel allows his employees to run his business." The guy smiles, a bit too smug, but Sam can't stop himself from looking. At a first glance the man isn't that spectacular, apart from the cool, Arctic look that makes him somewhat handsome. At a second that opinion has changed. There is something about the way he moves, as if there is something right beneath the skin, something dangerous and alluring, something in the eyes that tells Sam that if he goes there he will fall. He will crash and burn, fire against ice. Behind the gentle blue eyes lurk charisma, power, desire. 

_Oh._

"You're here early," Sam says, ignoring that the man — It has to be Gabriel's brother, the infamous Lucifer; who else would be that rude? — basically is calling them uncultured swine with no care for sanitary precautions. "I have been looking forward to this moment _so_ much," Sam says, not caring to hide neither the sarcasm, nor his displeasure. He makes a show of wiping his hands in the dish towel again before he holds a hand out so that Lucifer have to take it as not to look like an utter asswipe. "I'm Sam, Dean's brother."

Clearly, Lucifer can't be bothered to care about appearances. He stares at Sam's hand for a few seconds too long and Sam shrugs and reaches for a coffee press. That's the least he can do in return, making Lucifer a pot of absolutely undrinkable and hilariously expensive coffee. He's going to charge him, just to see that smug, annoying smile disappear from the smug, annoying mouth.

Sam has known Lucifer for all of three minutes and he dislikes him already. 

Great.

Those of Sam's colleagues who described Lucifer as a snake weren't entirely wrong. Lucifer has that same cold, calm feel to him, as if he's waiting for a victim to come by so he can choke it to death. Without a word, Sam makes the coffee, looking forward to watch Lucifer take the first sip of the scalding drink. 

"I told you so," Sam says, keeping his voice low. There are people in the coffee shop, and although the few that stayed to take their coffee are sitting at the far wall, they can still hear. 

"Your schadenfreude is showing," Lucifer retorts. "It doesn't become you."

"Not the only thing that doesn't become me," Sam sends Lucifer a pointed glare before he turns around and gets back to chopping. The knife's steady tchk-tchk-tchk is a bit too fast, too angry. Sam stops before he cuts off one of his fingers. He doesn't put the knife down as he turns back to look at Lucifer. "You're like another forty-eight-hour disease, I think. Not as nauseating as the Norovirus. Luckily it'll be over Sunday around midnight. Unless you decide to leave early in which case I'll feel much better right away." 

Sam has no idea why Lucifer rubs him the wrong way, apart from the apparent rudeness. Sam has been in court, listened to opponents and clients offending him in the most vile ways without as much as flinching, and yet Lucifer is able to get to him like no one else. 

There's a pause. Lucifer takes another sip of the coffee, expressionless. He puts down the cup. "Let's rewind. This doesn't make sense." He holds out his hand. "Hello. I'm Lucifer, Gabriel's older brother. Nice to meet you; Gabriel speaks very highly of you. He told me I'd like you."

Sam shakes his head to check whether he's got whiplash or not. "Excuse me?"

"Yes, of course I will excuse you. I assume you're not so rude all the time. I forgive you." The smug, sanctimonious smile is back.

Sam closes his eyes. He opens them again. Nope, Lucifer is still there. Not a bad dream. "I think I'll make some more sandwiches."

"I'm sorry. Not that you're making more sandwiches, but it was too... tempting to tease you." This time the smile is open and _real_ , as if he really appreciates that Sam is there with him. "You do present a temptation in your own... unpolished way."

Sam frowns. Lucifer has all of Gabriel's malice and none of his humor. Then again, there is something, an undercurrent of more than malice, something different, something positive. Maybe Sam understands better than he thought he would, or could. Lucifer is weird, but he is... flirty? Rude, arrogant, elitist and flirty. "Your apologies leave a lot to be desired," Sam states, ignoring entirely the resonance within him that Lucifer evokes. "Perhaps you should rewind some more, because right now it seems to me that you're somehow on repeat."

Lucifer laughs. "I see why my people tell me that Sam Winchester is hell to meet in court," he says. "They say that they'd rather have a rabid pit bull at their ankles than you. You really don't let go, do you?"

"You were in the middle of apologizing?" Sam says coolly.

"I'm getting nowhere, and fast. I see that." Lucifer's smile is wider. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"Right. I'll go make sandwiches," Sam repeats. "You can count, I suppose? Money, I mean. Since you'll be the one handling the customers." Sam doesn't feel obligated in any way to be polite to Lucifer. They are beyond that point. 

"I count. Otherwise, my PhD in Financial Economics would have been a total waste of time. I won't disappoint you. I can put two and two together and get any result from four to an annual twenty-five percent interest."

Somehow Sam can't stay angry. Lucifer's smile is boyish and warm. He's either that good, or not as bad as Sam had thought. Or maybe he is worse, much worse, because Sam can see Gabriel now, in Lucifer, see the charm and the confidence and the belief that the entire world is at their feet. For a second Sam wonders whether he might have had a slight crush on Dean's man, since he falls for it so easily, but he shrugs it off: another thought he doesn't care to think to an end.

Knowing that he only has to suffer Lucifer's company for two days, Sam goes to work. It's easy enough when someone else is taking care of the customers and the tables, but he is still very, very busy. The coffee shop is a popular place, not the usual trendy upscale spot, but a calm and quiet café with quality coffee and simple food. 

In between making sandwiches and baking buns and cookies, Sam pauses to drink some coffee, taking a quiet moment. It leaves him time to watch Lucifer without being watched himself. Oddly enough Lucifer seems to like the temp job. He laughs his warm laughter and smiles at the pretty girls, and at the plain, and sometimes at their boyfriends too. He flirts outrageously with the elderly ladies, and discusses the news with their husbands. He's different. Kinder. The smile is gentle, charming, wide, sweet, a special smile aimed solely at the person he talks to; a tailor-made temptation. Lucifer is like snow in the sun: a kaleidoscope of ever-changing colors and light. And then again, he is nothing like it, for in the middle of that shiny, ever-changing exterior there is warmth hidden underneath the light and the ice.

Sam finds himself strangely enchanted, and his dislike thaws a little.

*

They don't speak much. It's mostly things like "two sandwiches, please" or "the cookies are ready in ten". Sam is tired and his feet are sore when the day is finally over and the last patron leaves with two large Jamaican Blue Mountain and the remaining pistachio-and-sea-salt cookies.

Sam keeps a neat kitchen so thankfully there is little cleaning to do. He pulls off his apron and throws it into the laundry bin. He'd kill to sit down. 

"Sam?" 

"Yeah?" If there is one thing Sam doesn't care to do right now, it's to deal with Lucifer. 

"Get out here." 

Rolling his eyes, Sam decides to get it over with. "What?" He steps out into the small shop. 

Lucifer is sitting with his feet up, shoes off. He points at a steaming cup on the other side of the small table. "For you. Bolivian Caranavi. Organic. Light and sweet and fruity. It's delicious."

Without knowing it, it's exactly what Sam needs. Ten minutes with his legs up, a good cup of coffee, and silence. He flops down on the low bench that runs along the wall, pulls a chair closer and pulls off his sneakers without untying them. It's a wonder his feet don't smell. He grabs the large mug with both hands and takes a sip. He lets out a deep sigh, tired and content. "Thanks." 

"We survived," Lucifer says and smiles a tired smile. "I'd rather face an entire room full of scorned stockholders than five ravenous customers. God, they are _fierce_ when they're hungry."

Since Sam has baked non-stop to keep the ravaging hordes at bay, he agrees. He laughs, for the first time entirely in sync with Lucifer. "And we're at it again in..." He looks at his watch. "Seven hours. I don't get how Gabriel manages. It's actually worse than clocking fifty hours at the office." It's not entirely true. Sam did enjoy trying his hand with a variety of Gabriel's recipes. Different from his days at the law firm, sure, but he still likes it. 

"Thank God that someone else comes to freshen the place up while we're off. Dean told me they use a cleaning service."

Sam nods. "Yeah. Not sure I could manage mopping the floor right now. Can't wait to see my bed." He empties the mug. "We should probably..."

Lucifer puts his feet down and starts pulling on his shoes. "I wish I didn't live across town. There goes a full hour of sleep."

It is as if the exhaustion has brought them closer together, erased their initial animosity. Sam understands Lucifer's complaint, because his car is around the corner and he'll be back home in five minutes, and God, does he need his bed! Sam doesn't know what makes him say it; it might be the tired lines around Lucifer's eyes, or the way his proud posture has turned tired and round. "Come home with me," Sam says before he thinks. "I have a guest room and a new toothbrush."

The boyish expression is back. Maybe Lucifer isn't used to people doing nice things for him without getting paid for it, because he tilts his head to one side, studying Sam as if he sees him for the first time. "Really?"

"Really." Sam gets up, forgetting that he probably should put on his shoes too. He sits down again, untying the laces. He pauses and looks up, only to find out that Lucifer is studying him with intense interest. "It's no trouble, and it gives us a little time to plan before we start tomorrow." 

"You're a surprising man, Sam Winchester."

Sam doesn't ask where Lucifer got that idea, or why he might think so. He's not surprising; he's merely sympathetic. He stands. "You coming?"

*

They talk briefly in the car about how they're going to organize tomorrow's work. There is little energy left so Sam doesn't offer Lucifer an apartment tour. Sam merely points Lucifer in the direction of the guest bedroom while he goes in search of a toothbrush and a t-shirt for his impromptu guest.

"Thank you, Sam. I appreciate it," Lucifer tells Sam when he hands over the light blue toothbrush. He takes it with one hand while the other rests warmly over Sam's. "It's very kind of you."

"The bathroom is at the end of the hall. Sleep well," Sam says and flees, taking refuge in the master bedroom. 

The touch has disturbed his peace of mind more than he's willing to admit, and even as he falls asleep, worn out, he can still feel the touch as if it had been burned into his skin. 

Sam is out until the alarm blares its loud beep-beep-beep into his right ear. He palms at the clock until it stops, trying to muster some form of determination that can make him drag his sore body out of bed. Sam decides to stay under the covers, just five more minutes. It can't hurt. It's just...

"Sam. Sam?" 

Sam turns over and refuses to let go of the comforter. "Go away, Dean."

"Sam!"

"Oh, fuck!" Sam sits up, almost in panic, only to look directly at a naked chest, nicely built and delightfully wide. Lucifer is wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, and it leaves a nice view to a pair of muscular thighs. Sam is barely half awake, and his defenses are down. He looks. And then he looks again, because Lucifer is _hot_! "Oh." Kicking his lizard brain to the curb, he rubs his eyes, collecting himself. Reluctantly he looks away. "I- I mean— I think I overslept."

"You have ten minutes," Lucifer says, and only then does Sam notice that Lucifer is staring too. At his naked chest. With some appetite.

Maybe it's yesterday's tension, the switch from intense annoyance to reluctant acceptance that does it, Sam doesn't know, but the way Lucifer looks at him, a moment of ferocious hunger, leaves Sam hungry too, and not just for a substantial breakfast. Sam nods in the direction of the door. "Er, could you..."

Lucifer laughs. "Didn't take you for a prude, handsome."

"I sleep naked, all right?" _Not_ what he should have said. Sam closes his eyes in denial of his pseudo-Freudian slip and of Lucifer's compliment. "Privacy, please."

"Eight minutes. I'll meet you downstairs." Behind closed eyes, Sam can hear Lucifer leave his bedroom. The steps, muted by the thick carpet, stop. Sam looks up. 

Lucifer is looking at him, leaning against the door frame. "What a pity we're in a hurry," he says. His eyes are strangely soft and honest. 

Before Sam can ask what Lucifer means, he is gone, probably to dress in something more covering than one of Sam's gigantic and fluffy towels. Sam snorts, halfway amused. Six minutes. A quick shower isn't out of the question, so he dedicates what little brainpower he can muster to finish that task and still make it to the coffee shop in time.

*

They've been busy all morning. It's Sunday and everybody — and by 'everybody' Sam means any person who has ever even heard of Gabriel's place — has showed up for brunch. The only difference between Sunday and the menu that Coffee Heaven offers on weekdays is that they serve scrambled eggs and orange juice to go with the buns and the cookies and the sandwiches. It's not that much of a hassle, but with the number of patrons and with Sam and Lucifer's combined inexperience in all matters regarding coffee shops, it is damned hard work.

The second invasion is over. Lucifer is cleaning tables, and Sam is making more buns for sandwiches. He has a new batch of cookies, three varieties, ready for the lunch rush. How Gabriel and Dean manage to keep a café running, only the two of them, without getting exhausted is beyond Sam. Maybe they just like the line of work. 

Lucifer comes into the kitchen, balancing a pile of plates on a tray. "I work sixty hours a week, and it's _nothing_ in comparison. I will never again be anything but polite and respectful to anyone mad enough to take up a job in this business." He puts down the tray and throws a handful of small change on the tray. "And I'm going to tip way better. I am worth so much more, and I'm sure so is anyone ready to put up with customers in a café. I earn millions, and this is what they give me!" Poking with a finger at the coins, Lucifer snorts derisively. "1.49. That's... pathetic."

Sam cannot stop himself from laughing. Lucifer's grumpy expression turns into one of utter disbelief, as if he's not used to people laughing at him or contradicting him. "If you were your usual charming self out there, I'm surprised they tipped you at all," Sam teases, not entirely meaning what he says. "I'm sure there are people who are able to stand your incredible charm."

"Except for you, of course," Lucifer retorts, pouting. "I realized instantly that you were floored by my incredible magnetism."

"I think you need to turn the magnet around," Sam says. "Right now it's more of a repellent."

"Not the impression I got this morning, what with your eyes drawn to the perfection that is my manliness. Or maybe it was the towel that craved your attention? I agree; your towels are remarkably fluffy and soft." Lucifer crosses his arms and stares at Sam with a challenging look.

All right, so Sam had checked Lucifer out when he stood in his bedroom, wearing nothing but a huge blue Missoni bath towel. Sam decides that he only did it because he hadn't been fully awake. "That was only because I'm not used to naked men showing up at my bedside at six in the morning," Sam explains. "I—"

"And what a pity that is," Lucifer says, cutting Sam off. "We might need to remedy that. I volunteer." Lucifer waggles his eyebrows in a way that reminds Sam of how Gabriel looks when he flirts outrageously with anything with a pulse, just for the fun of it. 

"Thank you _so_ much," Sam says, chuckling. Lucifer is outrageous, too, but Sam thinks that if he asks Lucifer to back off, he will. Sam prefers not to examine in depth why he hasn't asked; instead he decides to enjoy Lucifer's good-natured flirting. It is true: Sam isn't used to men at his bed, or in his bed for that matter. He has been too busy to take time for romance, or even for a one night stand with no ties. The thought of his stressful job suddenly hits hard. There are times when Sam regrets deeply that he took the partner offer. He'd go back and change it if he could; except unemployment and the legal hassle that goes with quitting don't present a particularly appealing future. He thought the partnership would have given him more freedom, but instead he's tied, hands and feet. 

Lucifer sees Sam's distress, because the playful expression is gone in a flash. "You okay?" he asks, serious, and a little worried. "I didn't mean to imply..."

"I'm fine." Sam feels all warm at the honest concern. "I never have time. Nobody wants someone who's never home."

"You underestimate yourself." Lucifer squeezes Sam's arm lightly. "If you ask me, you're a catch. And maybe you'd be home more if someone was waiting for you."

"Now look who turned into a couple's therapist. Gabriel says you're single, too," Sam snorts, suddenly vividly interested in the buns in the oven. "When was the last time you had someone to come home to?"

Maybe Lucifer doesn't mind the question, but he certainly doesn't like the answer, because he stares at Sam for a bit too long before he, without a word, turns around and goes back to tend to the customers.

*

Again, a rush of customers parts them like a flood, pulling them in each their direction. They meet occasionally in the kitchen or behind the counter, exchanging nothing more than a look or a brief touch as they dance around each other, both to pass each other in the confined space, and to—at least when it concerns Sam—to deal with the contradicting feelings of attraction and repulsion. Lucifer is everything Sam hates. He's ruthless and arrogant, cold as ice. And then there are moments when the ice thaws, the cold surface melting to reveal compassion and humor and empathy; all the traits that make Gabriel bearable and, frankly, attractive. Hot. Lucifer is like him, but the hotness burns cold, and it takes time to get used to the constant fluctuation between states. Sam has to admit that he might have judged Lucifer unfairly; not that he, at a first glance, has given Sam reason to do otherwise. Lucifer behaved like a typical corporate asshole. Sam knows, though, that nobody gets success like Lucifer's unless one's elbows are made of steel. Possibly with rotating blades mounted on them.

Maybe it's the multifaceted personality, the ever-changing surface, that finally makes Sam admit that he really is attracted to Lucifer. Past the initial asshattery, Lucifer's attention is no longer unwanted. Sam would like to see more, to dive below the surface to see what he finds. He decides to give Lucifer a little, to let him see more of what Sam is when he is not battling Lucifer's lawyers in court. 

"I think that maybe my life has been all work and no play," Sam tells Lucifer when they finally get a break. Around noon the coffee shop is quiet; perhaps the entire population has decided that takeaway and pizze are much better than cookies and sandwiches for dinner. "I mean, this—" Sam waves with a hand, indicating the coffee shop and the cookies. "—shouldn't feel like fun, but it's more fun than I've had for months." Sam leans against the counter, eating a piece of ham, looking expectantly at Lucifer, maybe to get some kind of confirmation that he isn't the only one regretting his course in life. 

"See, I thought that I'd be this kick-ass CEO. Took the direct way through the best universities, did all the right stuff." Lucifer shrugs. "And when I finally sat there, at the end of the huge table in the board room... I quit. Well... not so much quit, because I own the company, and I am the CEO, at least by name. I stepped back, letting people who are actually interested in leading a company lead it. Now I'm dedicating my time to sign contracts and ripping off hedge funds for the pleasure of it. Easy targets. Daddy's boys out for easy money and high risks. Like shooting fish in a barrel. Channeling money into long-lasting projects instead. More giving, more revenue in the long run. Not that I'm a humanitarian in any sense of the word, but I prefer to preserve instead of ruining companies, which is what most hedge funds do best; they rip off the unfortunate and shoot them dead, to no benefit of small investors."

"Aw, that's sweet," Sam teases. "If I hadn't met you, I'd actually think you had a conscience."

"My dad started the company, Sam. I'm sure he didn't expect me to tear down what he'd built. Not fond of the old idiot, but he created a thing of beauty before he ran off to the Bahamas with his secretary. I simply decided to do something that would preserve the company as he meant to keep it. We're investing in America, Sam. In people. We're not running a business to let some rich assholes get richer, unless that asshole is me. But I won't let my company deal in the debris of hostile takeovers. I'm big on consent, you see."

"Oh, you _are_ a humanitarian. And now you and Gabriel are working in a coffee shop to show how you side with ordinary people. You are both angels, aren't you?" Sam can't decide whether he thinks Lucifer is a lying shit, or just good in a very strange way.

"Ha-hah. I'm not sure the competition agrees. And I manage Gabriel's part of the portfolio. I guarantee you that Gabe owns a good deal more than this little enterprise. Half the company is his. Which you know already if you're a corporate lawyer worth your salt."

"So you actually enjoy what you do?" Sam asks. He didn't think that Lucifer was that kind of lone ranger. Then again, he hadn't thought that he'd actually _like_ Lucifer, no less find him hot. Still, he does. Lucifer is.... scorching. 

Lucifer makes one of those smiles that should infuriate Sam. He looks at him, eyes appreciative. "Right now I do."

"Seriously?" 

"Mmm. And I like what I do when I'm not wasting my weekend with a very interesting and handsome young lawyer. Now that I think of it, I enjoy wasting time with him. Perhaps I should dedicate more time to spend with said lawyer?"

Sam shakes his head and mutters, "Incorrigible," as he decides to ignore Lucifer in favor of making more cookies. Not that they need them yet, but Sam is grasping at straws here. 

Then there is an arm on each side of him, Lucifer stepping up behind him, the warmth emanating from him enough to tell Sam that if he moves, he'll be flush up against Lucifer, a prospect which as about as alluring as it is scary. 

"You were saying?" Lucifer's voice is soft and teasing and deep. 

"What you're so clearly proving just now." Sam looks over his shoulder. It's hard to breathe. Lucifer's face is right there, his lips too close, too enticing. Oh fuck, this isn't good. "Incorrigible."

"Me or you?" Lucifer laughs, a clear laughter that hits Sam in the same shocking and refreshing way as cold water from a mountain spring. "Let me know when you know." Then he walks away, back into the café before Sam can react or reply. If Sam was in doubt that Lucifer is hitting on him, he certainly isn't in doubt any longer. His mind is getting with the program, but his body is far ahead, all busy telling him how right Lucifer feels. Sam forces in a deep breath to calm himself and to force down the sparks of arousal that Lucifer ignited.

*

Sam is glad that they are working in a public place. The magnetism that he so callously mocked earlier is turning into a magnetic field that appears to contain the entire coffee shop, mysteriously working its magic with both of them. It doesn't matter what Sam does, cooking, baking, making sandwiches... when he looks up, Lucifer is looking at him, and Sam finds that he is unable to look away. He is fascinated, drawn towards Lucifer, as if he's suddenly turned into the center of Sam's limited universe. Sam is not sure who's orbiting whom, but he is left breathless, the surroundings turning into the oxygen-sparse darkness of the empty space every time Lucifer—obviously, outrageously blatant—looks at Sam and licks his lips, leaving them inviting and wet and so damned _kissable_ that Sam on occasion has to withdraw to the bathroom and splash his own face with icy water.

Lucifer knows, Sam is sure of it, the effect he has on him. Little evades Lucifer's attention, and Sam is losing his cool. 

To survive, Sam throws himself into cookie-making. Sam begins to understand why Gabriel likes to bake. It's calming. Measuring out the exact amount of flour and sugar and butter is relaxing. Cups of almonds. Handfuls of chocolate chips. A sprinkle of cinnamon and a few spoonfuls of honey. Dough kneaded and spread out in little slices on the sheet, little islands of deliciousness that saves Sam from drowning in Lucifer's attention. 

"You need any help?" 

Lucifer steps up to him again, too close, too hot, too distracting. Sam fumbles with the butter and drops the flour. The bag tilts and leaves a layer of thin white dust on the worktop.

"No. I— please." Sam brushes off the dough and tries to remember how much butter he mixed into it. "I'm fine."

"So you are," Lucifer says and strokes Sam's shoulder, kneading it as if Sam was soft as dough too. 

Sam makes a light moan. It's right where the weekend's hard work has left him with a sore knot of tense muscles.

"Fine? Are you now?" Lucifer presses with a thumb right into the tender spot. "So this doesn't hurt at all?"

Sam squirms and moans again under Lucifer's experienced hands. "You know it does. You're in no better shape than I am, and I hurt."

"Stand still. Five minutes and you'll feel much better." 

Lucifer's breath is damp on Sam's skin, and he fights the urge to lean back, to let Lucifer embrace him. Sam is sure that if he lets Lucifer have his way, he'll not only feel better, he'll also be so aroused that he has to keep the stupid apron on for more hours than he cares to think of. "I—" Sam starts. He knows he learned the word _no_ at some point, he merely seems to have forgotten when to use it. The sound that comes out of his mouth sounds suspiciously like a yes.

"Sam..." Lucifer's whisper contains so much longing that Sam has to gather all his strength as not to turn around and do what he wants with Lucifer. "Relax," Lucifer demands, his hands large and warm and strong as he strokes Sam's back, putting the exact right amount of pressure into it when he kneads and massages the tense knots. "I'll make you feel so good." 

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of," Sam confesses, finally giving himself up to a few minutes of pleasure in the experienced hands of a man he's only met a day ago.

*

Of course pleasure has its price. They work for a while, another influx of customers craving Lucifer's attention. Sam can't stop thinking about how it felt, Lucifer's fingers spread out on his back, strong and gentle. The pleasure stays with him, prevents him from getting into a steady work flow. He ruins a few sandwiches by smearing honey on rye, and he almost burns the cookies he made while fighting his urge to give in to Lucifer. He grabs the mittens and almost rips out the sheets from the oven. The cookies are a little dark. If only that was all that was wrong with them.

Sam stares at the baking sheets in desperation. He knows defeat when he sees it.

Of course it's the exact moment when Lucifer gets a break. "What's the matter," Lucifer asks. "You look like your world just crumbled."

If that had been the only thing crumbling... "I made a new batch of cookies." Sam points at the baking sheets. He should have checked again; there's definitely too much butter in that batch. Or too little flour, courtesy of Lucifer and his distractions. "Also known now as The World's Largest Cookie. I think I put them too close together on the sheet. Or they melted." He eyes his ruined baking-attempt. Three sheets of merged cookies. "Three giant cookies, to be precise."

"This is the opposite of a problem." Lucifer breaks off a corner of one of the cookies. It's chocolate chip honey almond, and Lucifer makes a deep moan as he takes a bite, melting chocolate smeared over his fingers. "No cookie can ever be too large. Oh, Sam, you're good," he says in between chewing and swallowing. "Fucking delicious."

Sam doesn't know whether Lucifer is still talking about the cookies. It's unfair. An enraptured Lucifer, eyes closed in pleasure, does things to Sam that he'd prefer didn't happen. Again. He is not attracted to Gabriel's evil, arrogant, annoying big brother. Nope. Not at all. Unfortunately, Sam is really crap at convincing himself.

"Sam?" Lucifer smiles, the corners of his mouth curling into a knowing, smug smile. "Could I interest you in a bite?" Without looking away, Lucifer licks the remaining chocolate off his fingers, eyes heavy-lidded with desire for something other than the sweet taste of cookie dough.

Sam's patience has been stretched all day, the non-stop teasing pushing Sam to the breaking point at last. He has no doubt about what Lucifer wants, and not incidentally (since there is nothing incidental about fifteen hours of constant banter and innuendo) it is the same thing that Sam wants. Very, very slowly, staring at Lucifer, Sam puts down the oven mitts on the table and pulls off his apron. "Yes," he says, closing his hand around Lucifer's wrist. "I'd like a... bite. But we have customers waiting outside."

"I know." Lucifer stares at him, almost defiantly, challenging. "A quick taste always enhances the appetite."

"So I've heard," Sam says, hesitating on purpose, wanting to give Lucifer a taste of his own medicine. Sam's breathing is shallow and fast when he finally takes a step forward, forcing Lucifer to retreat. His back collides with the worktop, and Sam uses the opportunity to slide his arms around Lucifer's waist. Lucifer is firm and solid and almost as big as Sam. It's a huge turn-on, for Lucifer too, that much is obvious. Maybe he isn't used to his men being equally tall and strong. 

"So this is it?" Lucifer asks, whispering, his breath a little ragged. "Sam, I want you."

With Lucifer caught between the cabinets and Sam's hips, Sam decides to do the sensible thing. He leans in and kisses Lucifer on the mouth, trying to rein in his longing for more. The kiss starts tentatively, Lucifer's lips half open and pliant under Sam's, a moment of tenderness before their desire flares too brightly, too hotly, to be contained in a gentle kiss. 

"Mmm," Lucifer sighs, the eager little moan all cookie-scented and warm, and Sam forgets for a moment that they are not alone. He forgets long enough for him to pull Lucifer flush up against him, hands sliding down his back until he is able to test that Lucifer's ass is exactly as firm as it looks. The kiss turns demanding and hot, as if Lucifer has turned up the heat and upped the ante. Sam gives in ever so willingly; it's not much of a conquest for Lucifer to take what is his already. Sam surrenders, letting Lucifer have what he wants. 

It's a minute of eager touches, sixty seconds of electrifying pleasure, slick tongues stroking and tasting and exploring. They pull apart as not to forget themselves entirely, making a spectacle of themselves in front of the patrons. Gabriel will never let them hear the end of it. 

"Didn't help," Lucifer murmurs, his mouth barely leaving Sam's. "How did we even think this would help? I want you even more now."

"Later," Sam promises, hoping that time, by some miracle, will pass quickly so that the last hours until they are free to go won't feel like sweet torture. "You are not going back to your apartment tonight."

"Nothing... _nothing_ could keep me away from you now. I know this is insane, but..." Lucifer stares at Sam with so much want that Sam melts into Lucifer's embrace once more. "It's not going to be just for one night, you know that, right?"

Yeah, it's insane. Sam knows how Lucifer feels, he can see it in his eyes; a reflection of the desire and need that Sam himself feels. It's pure chemistry, he knows it. Hormones. Only there is more, something about Lucifer that makes Sam willing to put everything he has out there in return for a chance of the big win. Love. In time. The chance that he, one day, will wake up in the morning and look at the man lying next to him and know, just _know_ that it is forever, that Lucifer is the one. He has never felt like this for anyone, like his entire being is going up in flames. 

Sam leans in and kisses Lucifer again, softly, before he lets him go. "Then we're both insane. I can live with that."

*

The remaining few hours are a flurry of customers who need coffee and cookies. It's a good thing, though, for every time Lucifer leaves the counter or the tables he is waiting on in favor of the kitchen, the temperature rises, and not because of the oven that has been on since they arrived. When the clock strikes ten and Lucifer goes to lock the doors, Sam is flustered and needy and a little confused about the feelings that have made him so.

To take his mind off Lucifer, and maybe to avoid the awkward moment of freedom that the closed and locked doors allow them, Sam finds his phone and calls up Dean. 

"How is he?" Sam asks, slightly distracted because he's busy watching Lucifer put up chairs and ridding the counter of a few remaining cookies.

"He's fine." 

Sam can hear the noise from a TV in the background, and Gabriel's laughter. "Sounds like it. So we're off duty as of now?"

"Mm-hm." Dean isn't particularly interested in talking for some reason. 

Sam finds it odd. "You're sure he's fine?"

"Yes, Sam. He's over it now." There is a slight break as if Gabriel is demanding Dean's attention before he speaks again. "How are things with Lucifer? You get along?"

"With Lucifer?" Sam is baffled. Why they hell does Dean want to know? "Yes. We, erm, get along."

"He wasn't home yesterday. Gabriel tried to call him at home."

"Er, I—" Sam frowns. "I don't know. Maybe he should have called his cell?" So Gabriel hadn't had his head in the toilet all the time?

"He did. It was turned off."

Sam is not going to volunteer any information about Lucifer's whereabouts. "He was tired. He was probably asleep. It's hard work."

"I'm sure you're right. And... thanks for helping," Dean says, again sounding strange. It sounds as if he's smiling. 

Sam shakes his head, murmurs a, "You're welcome," and breaks the connection. 

Lucifer is done preparing the shop for the cleaners who come in later in the night. "Dean?"

"It was odd. He was wondering where you were yesterday." Sam stares at the phone in his hand. "Gabriel was better," he adds and puts the phone back in his back pocket. "We're free men by now."

"So," Lucifer drawls, "you're not adverse to spend the rest of the evening and the night with me?" He smiles boyishly, reaching for Sam's hand. He takes it, pulling lightly at it. "Sam?" Lucifer takes a step towards the door. 

"Yeah." Sam nods. "I mean, no." He shakes his head, slightly confused. "No, I don't mind. Let's get out of here." He palms at the wall, trying to hit the light switch as they pass it. "We should close up properly."

"Coffee maker and oven are off, the light is in a second, and you have the key. I'd say we're good." Lucifer doesn't stop. "We don't want to waste any more time."

Sam lets himself be pulled along, outside the coffee shop. The night is cool and rain-scented. "You're not big on patience," he says as he fumbles for the key. It's not a question.

"No," Lucifer tells Sam as he turns the key and sets the alarm. "I usually get what I want, and I hate waiting for it."

"Is that so?" Sam isn't about to give in that easily. 

"It's precisely how it is," Lucifer growls and slams Sam up against the summer-warm brick wall before he kisses him again, ferocious, hungry for more. 

Somehow they manage to get to the car, and into it. Lucifer's hand is on Sam's thigh, and Sam can't think. His lips tingle from the violent kiss and his thigh is on fire where Lucifer's hand rests. _Please, please, please,_ Sam chants, hoping that Lucifer won't do anything but to sit there until they're at the apartment. Otherwise they'll end up doing it in the car, and there are limits. Except when it comes to how much Sam wants Lucifer, and how soon. Impulse control is dead, desire is up and at one-hundred percent and thank God they only have five minutes to go before they're alone. 

Lucifer is quiet, but his eyes follow Sam's every movement. He starts unbuttoning his shirt even before Sam has turned the engine off. "Get the elevator," Sam says. He hands Lucifer the key before they get out of the car. They rush across the empty street, into the building. The elevator arrives. The doors part with a soft _woosh_ , and Sam leans against the cold metal, as far away from Lucifer as he can manage inside the small, confined room. If he touches him, just once, it's going to be too late. They aren't going to make it inside. Sam has little patience left, none. But he hangs on to the thought of _not_ being discovered by one of his neighbors on his knees with Lucifer's cock in his mouth, because that's where Sam wants to be right now, kneeling, sucking Lucifer down, tasting him, feeling the harsh slide of flesh against his tongue.

The thirty seconds it takes before the doors open again is like hours. Lucifer is staring, eyes locked with Sam's while he opens the last few buttons in his shirt. It's a miracle that they aren't fucking like bunnies already.

Another eternity passes as the doors open and they make their way across the corridor, across the deep carpet that silences their footsteps. The only sound is Sam's keys, a sharp sound of metal against wood as Lucifer unlocks the door and pushes it open. 

Sam hesitates for a second, a brief instance of time, knowing that the moment that he steps across the threshold he is done for. 

"Lucifer," is all Sam gets to say before he is manhandled towards the the bathroom, clothes desperately discarded on the floor as to get naked as fast as possible. Lucifer is damned strong, and it turns Sam on like nothing else. Lucifer has his hands all over him, and Sam tries to keep up, digging his fingers into Lucifer's skin, making him moan and squirm and pant for more. They are neither gentle, nor tender; tenderness comes later.

"More," Sam begs. He doesn't care what he gets, as long as he gets Lucifer. If he's going to be on his knees at some point, he's very, very much on with the program. "Please, Lucifer!"

There is lube and condoms in the cabinet, and Sam ends up mashed up against the hot-water-warm tiles with Lucifer's fingers up his ass, and a soapy hand working wonders with his cock. "This what you wanted?" Lucifer whispers, sliding his fingers in and out slowly, as deep as he can get them. 

Sam rides the high of it, his body aflame with lust and need for more. He spreads his legs more in compliance. "Yes, God, fuck!" Sam is near his breaking point already; it has been too long, and he wants to come before he spontaneously combusts with desire. 

"Can't wait to have my cock in your ass," Lucifer moans, rubbing his erection off on Sam's buttock. "You're so damned hot it makes me wanna come just watching you like this."

Under the spray of the luxurious shower, Sam does exactly that, fucking himself on Lucifer's fingers until he cries out, chanting Lucifer's name as not to cry out loud as he comes all over the wall and over Lucifer's fingers. Lucifer strokes him through it, waits until he has calmed down enough to stand by himself. Then Sam turns around, taking the kisses he wants from Lucifer before he slowly sinks down on the floor, reaching for Lucifer's cock.

The skin is silken under his tongue, and so are Lucifer's moans, all smooth and soft and arousing as Sam slides the condom on. The muted moans fill Lucifer's mouth as Lucifer fills Sam's mouth with his cock, Sam relaxing to take in as much as possible, unable to deep-throat; he's out of practice, but fuck how he wants it. He wants Lucifer's dick in his mouth, deep enough to choke on it, to feel how his breathing gets harder. Without words, Sam spurs Lucifer on, licking and sucking until Lucifer's moans make him choke too, lost in what Sam is doing to him.

Hot water sprays over them and Lucifer leans back against the wall, thrusting shallowly into Sam's mouth, hands in his soaked hair, leaving Sam room enough to move and breathe. Lucifer's moans get louder and deeper as Sam increases his efforts to get Lucifer deeper inside; a constant litany of filth until Lucifer loses it and forgets anything but Sam's name. Tense and hard-strung, Lucifer cries out, freezing for a moment before a flood of warm come spurts into the condom Lucifer is wearing, the taste in no way pleasant, rubber and synthetic strawberries, but Lucifer's surrender is. It tastes better than cookies and buns, better than anything Sam can think of. He helps Lucifer on the way with a hand cupping his balls, massaging them as he drinks his orgasm down.

Sam has barely felt Lucifer's hot come in his mouth before Lucifer is on his knees in front of him, kissing him deeply and at length, caressing his back, holding him through the last tremors of orgasm. 

"That was... Oh, Sam... " Lucifer is next to him, almost worshiping him in the way he touches him, as if every inch of him is precious.

"Yeah." Sam fights to breathe evenly as he holds on to Lucifer. "Bed?"

Lucifer laughs. "Optimist. Yes, bed. And some sleep. We'll get to round two later." Lucifer reaches for a lavender-smelling towel and wraps Sam in it, getting another to dry his hair. "Come on, Sammy."

Sam knows Lucifer is right when he tries to stand. They are both tired after the weekend's long working hours, and neither is twenty any longer. "Right. Quality before quantity," Sam agrees.

Luckily their decision makes it clear that Lucifer is a quality cuddler, too, and Sam admits before he falls asleep in Lucifer's arms that he loves spooning. He can be the big spoon tomorrow.

*

The early morning rolls over Sam as it usually does: he stirs in the darkness, minutes before the alarm goes off, trying to push off the heavy blanket of sleep, denying the need for at least a few more hours to feel truly rested.

Leaning over to turn on the light, Sam shuffles around to sit up. The alarm on the bedside table tells him that it's 5:49. It's dark outside, and Sam doesn't want to leave the bed, especially not since Lucifer is warm and refuses to let go of him, a notion that Sam fully supports. He smiles, gently ruffling Lucifer's hair, hesitating a bit too long. Lucifer might be related to octopi because he makes a content sound and pulls Sam closer, arms firmly around his waist. 

"Not going anywhere," Lucifer states. "Get back here."

"I can't," Sam says. "I want to but I can't."

Lucifer opens his eyes. They are pleasure-tired and soft. "Quit."

Sam laughs. "Out of a job for a morning with you? You're good, but you're not that good."

"Oh, I am." Lucifer gets up on one elbow, placing a kiss on Sam' stomach. "And if you stay, you won't regret it."

"Idiot," Sam snorts lovingly. "Contrary to some, I have to work for a living. And I assure you that being a partner in a busy law firm doesn't cut me any slack when it comes to lazy mornings."

Lucifer doesn't argue. Not immediately. Instead he takes his time, destroying Sam's resolve with more kisses on sleep-warm skin. "I'll have my people put in your contract that you come to work when your boss does. Which means that you are going nowhere until I say so."

The sensation of soft lips and a wet tongue on his stomach more or less removes Sam's ability to think. He breathes a bit more heavily, trying to make sense of Lucifer's outrageous demand. "What?" is all he manages before Lucifer slides a condom on him, taking his half-hard dick into his mouth to suck on it gently. Sam's thoughts flutter around helplessly under the onslaught of pleasure. "Please" Sam begs, not entirely sure for what. Relentlessly Lucifer continues his manhandling until Sam is on his back, thrusting into Lucifer's hot, greedy mouth while he moans something unintelligible. Only then does Lucifer stop.

"I'm offering you a position, Sam. One that'll make your little enterprise as partner look like a low-end job. No more sixty-hour work week, and no early Monday mornings. Unless you're awake and in my bed. You told me that you regretted making partner. I'm offering you a better job, a better income, and not least: freedom."

"Oh fuck. You're evil," Sam groans under the weight of the temptation. "How can you be so evil?"

"Twice your current guaranteed income, and full partner right away. Our clients pay better; they're used to me ripping them off." Lucifer laughs a deep and dark laughter, sliding his hand up Sam's inner thigh. "You'll have free hands to do what you like with them."

"But you don't _know_ me," Sam argues, his voice breaking as Lucifer cups his balls and squeezes them lightly. "The me that... You just know I work for the competition. This is—"

"You think I'd let my little brother move in with someone without investigating him first, you'd be mistaken, not that I had to work particularly hard because there are only so many Winchesters in this city. I knew about you already, Sam, and so do those of my lawyers who have been in combat with you. No one is as fierce as you are in court, and I was going to make an offer, because my company is worth your time, and you are worth the considerable amount I'm going to pay you. The offer just happened sooner, under different circumstances. I admit that our negotiation _is_ happening under special circumstances; I suppose we have Gabriel and Mr Norovirus to thank for that."

"So now you're a stalker too? You want me to—oh!" Lucifer's mouth is back on his cock, and Sam lets him, because it feels so good. "You want me to give in to you, just like that? I just met y— oh, fuck!" Lucifer doesn't take no for an answer, and Sam decides not to give him one. 

Lucifer jerks him off slowly, and Sam moans again, groaning as Lucifer tightens the grip around his erection. 

"You are right, though. I don't know you, not really, not yet." The bed dips on each side of Sam as Lucifer climbs on top of him. "But if you'll let me, we're going to remedy that. I am willing to use a considerable amount of time on changing it."

"Meaning?" Sam gasps for air and reprieve; Lucifer is relentless.

"You are single. I'm single. I want you, and you want me. I'm sure you can figure it out. I meant it, Sam, when I told you that I don't want a one-night stand. Not unless you'll have a one-night stand with me every night from now on." Lucifer moans as he lets go of Sam's dick and gives his own a few rough strokes.

"At least we can blame Gabriel if anything goes wrong." Sam says and loses his ability to speak when Lucifer presses their cocks together, spit-slick and hard. This time Lucifer is gentle and slow and _cruel_ , because he takes all the time he wants, placing kisses on Sam's skin, licking and sucking and jerking him off until he's a mess, nothing but lust left on his mind. It has been so long that Sam feels like a novice, and he too needs time to reacquaint himself with the pleasure and the surrender in lovemaking, for that is what they are doing now, Sam knows. He shivers under Lucifer's hands, soaking up every touch, parched, but every kiss, every stroke make him feel _alive_ , slaking his thirst.

Lucifer takes his time — and Sam's. And Sam, during the few moments when he is able to think clearly, finds that he doesn't mind. Work is unimportant. Sam dives back in, offering himself up to Lucifer. Lucifer turns him over, Sam following willingly as Lucifer embraces him from behind, kissing him awkwardly over his shoulder, his cock caught between Sam's cheeks. 

Lucifer's breath becomes ragged and torn, and the dirty little words he whispers in Sam's ear become unintelligible. Sam thrusts slowly into Lucifer's hand, the hard cock pressing against him, rubbing over his hole, making it impossible to last.

"Lu—Lucifer, please," Sam begs, wanting to come _now_ , so that he can control it, at least a little. But Lucifer isn't that merciful. He pauses as he continues thrusting between Sam's cheeks, and only when Lucifer cries out, coming over the low of Sam's back does he allow Sam his release. Sam comes with Lucifer's tongue in his mouth, Lucifer's hand working his cock, filled with Lucifer's presence. 

"Anything you want," Lucifer promises him, kissing him again, soft lips and soft touches guiding him down from the high of his orgasm.

They lie in bed for some time, not talking, except for the gentle caresses they share. Sam's head rests on Lucifer's arm, their legs entangled. They're sweaty and smeared with come, and Sam doesn't care. He's going to stay here until hunger or thirst or the need for a bath drive them out of bed.

Sam laughs because for the first time in a very long time he is satisfied and happy. Also, Lucifer wore him out entirely, not something Sam is used to and it feels so good.

Bonus is that Sam really sounds exhausted and tired when he calls in sick, telling his soon-to-be-former law firm that he doesn't know when he'll be well enough to return. At least it gives him another day to think about what to do with his life now that Lucifer is in it to stay — for good.

*

The clock at the bedside table blinks. 5:50. Sam purrs and turns in Lucifer's arms, annoyed with the late afternoon sun that shines him awake, a clear ray of light in his face. Somewhere far away a phone is ringing. Sam yawns and stretches, pleasantly sore and delightfully close to falling in love. He can't remember having felt so content for a long, long while. Beside him, Lucifer groans and throws the phone at him. Sam laughs because he's happy. He answers the phone, only realizing it's Lucifer's when Gabriel's voice in the other end kicks him out of his bubble.

"Bro!" Gabriel shouts. "You at Sam's? What did I tell you? He's right up your alley, ain't he, or maybe you were all up his, what do I know? I don't care who tops. Anyway, spill!"

Sam is suddenly very, very awake. "You sound a lot better, Gabriel," Sam says coolly. "The Norovirus all gone now? Anything you'd like to explain to me, or should I ask Lucifer?" Sam sends Lucifer a questioning glance. Either he has no idea of what's going on, or he's the best liar in the world. "So spill."

"I'm gonna kill him," Lucifer says and reaches for the phone. 

"No," Sam says and holds the phone so that Lucifer can't take it from him. "Not until I get an explanation. _Not_ from you. Not yet."

"All he said was that I'd... That it was as if you were made for me," Lucifer insists. "How could I refuse? I had nothing to do with what happened this weekend. That's on him. I'd never try to cheat you into anything, Sam. I'd never agree to do... what he did."

Lucifer sounds incredibly convincing, and Sam really, really wants to be convinced.

"He never lies," a tinny voice tells Sam. Gabriel. 

Sam picks up the phone again, putting Gabriel on speaker. "Okay?"

"I might not have been _quite_ as sick as I led Dean to believe. And Lucy didn't know. If I hadn't helped him out of the goodness of my heart, he'd still be in his boring office, doing boring shit with numbers, instead of being in bed with his hot new boy toy. I guess that'd be you, kiddo." 

Gabriel sounds so satisfied with himself that Sam wishes he'd be able to reach through the phone and punch his brother-in-law in his face. "You... you..." Sam is for once speechless.

"You got laid and you like him. Stop complaining. Enjoy. You can thank me later." Gabriel chuckles and disconnects, leaving Sam with a dead phone in one hand and a slightly worried-looking Lucifer hanging on to the other. 

"You're going to help me hide the body, right?" Sam asks. "If you don't mind being brotherless."

"Oh, I have more. Brothers. Not as bad as Gabriel. Then again, I might be inclined to forgive him." Lucifer has regained his confidence. "You see, I don't mind the outcome and since you haven't thrown me out of bed, my guess is that you don't mind, either. Having a boyfriend, I mean."

Sam shakes his head and chuckles. He can't stay mad at Gabriel, and he surely isn't angry with Lucifer. "Not at this moment, no. I think Gabriel might be right; we _are_ made for each other," Sam admits willingly and pulls Lucifer back into the bed.


End file.
